“Oh, Teig,” Molly says, sounding exhausted. She sets the knife down and stares at her son as if she’s considering something. “I’m not sure this is the time.”
“Oh hell no,” I say, holding up a hand. “You can’t say that and then leave me hanging. What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
“Apparently I’m too young to talk to you about these things so I have to keep my mouth shut,” Teig says. The way he looks at me suddenly makes me feel like the kid in the room. Like he’s the one trying to take care of me instead of the other way around.
“Molly? Spill.”
She rolls her shoulders and gives Teig a glare before turning to me, donning that motherly expression that’s usually comforting. “There’s a guy,” she says, tilting her head at the last word. “His name is Lincoln and ever since he saw your photos on the track’s Facebook page, he’s been dying to meet you.”
“And he’s a concrete statue of a former president?” I ask, lifting a brow. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Mom, I could tell it way better than you,” Teig says, ripping off a piece of the French bread loaf and shoving it in his mouth. “His last name is Atwell and he works at the track. He’s twenty-one.”
“That’s enough, T,” Molly snaps. She wipes her hands on her apron and puts a hand on my shoulder. But I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.
I rub my eyebrow. “You want me to date this guy with a political name?”
“No, no, of course not!” She squeezes my shoulder and then turns back to making the cheesy bread. “Jim hired him a couple of months ago, and he’s a really sharp kid. I just feel that, say if you need more friends this summer, or something, then you might want to . . .”
“Date him?” I say again. The very thought of opening up my heart to another guy so soon after losing my last one sends a wave of nausea through my stomach. But I know Molly comes from a good place with her suggestion. She just wants all of her family members to be happy. “I don’t really think that’s a good idea. I don’t really want to date anyone right now.”
“Because you still love Ash,” Teig says, folding his arms across his chest like he’s some kind of genie with the knowledge of all things Hana.
“Teig, I told you to stay out of this,” Molly says, swatting his hand away when he tries to reach for another piece of bread. “This is an adult situation.”
“Yeah but Lincoln told me that he had a crush on Hana first, so it’s kind of my business, too. He made it my business by going all gaga over her pictures.”
“Who does this guy think he is?” I ask, rolling my eyes in an attempt to hide the pain I feel. “He doesn’t even know me, so he can’t have a crush on me.”
“Exactly,” Molly says, jumping to my defense. “But I think you’d really like him as a friend. You know, on the off chance that you won’t spend that much time at the Carter’s this summer.”
I let out my breath. The longer I have to talk about this potential guy to date, the more the pain in my chest increases. “Sure, I’ll be happy to meet him,” I say.
“Wonderful!” Molly beams. She tosses the minced garlic into her shredded cheese bowl and reaches for a spatula.
“This is just in case Ash and you don’t get back together, which I would hate, by the way,” Teig says, pointing a warning finger at me. “You can be Lincoln’s friend, but don’t let him in your pants.”
“Teig!” Molly and I say in unison. She swats at him with a dishtowel. “I don’t ever want to hear those words come out of your mouth ever again. You are way too young.”
Teig groans. “I know what love and sex are, Mom.”
“Do you?” I ask, peering down at him.
His cheeks redden. “I know some of it.”
Molly looks toward the ceiling and shakes her head. “Where did I go wrong?” she mutters under her breath.
Probably from embarrassment, Teig says he’s going to go play video games and then he disappears so quickly I expect a puff of dust to appear where he was sitting. Once he’s upstairs and his bedroom door is closed, Molly looks over at me.
Shit, I’d hoped this conversation was over, but the look in her eyes tells me it’s only just beginning.
“Do you think you and Ash will get back together?”
I lift my shoulders, focusing on the skillet in front of me. “Probably not. I don’t know.”
“Lincoln is a great guy,” she says. “Cute, too. But there’s no pressure obviously. I just wanted you to know you already have an admirer here in Mixon since you were so adamant that you didn’t like anyone at college.”
If I pretend not to hear her, will she go away?